Ten – PANORMOS
On the plain behind Cape Plemmyrion, west of Syracuse, Dionysios drew up his army. Despite losses in battle, the departure of his Siceliot allies to their own cities, and the detachment of besieging forces at each of the recalcitrant cities in Phoenician Sicily, he still commanded over fifty thousand men. The Syracusan citizens formed one contingent; the various mercenary nationalities, others. They stood in long, even lines, the sun glinting on their spearheads and the wind ruffling the horsehair crests of their helmets.
Dionysios reviewed the men, praised them—briefly, for he knew they yearned to go home—and ordered the Syracusans to stack their arms. The men piled their weapons with much clatter, as others loaded the sheaves of spears and piles of shields into wagons. Zopyros, sitting his horse behind Dionysios, whispered to an older staff officer:
"We're a long way from Syracuse yet. Why must they stack their arms so soon?"
The officer snorted. "Sometimes, my boy, you don't seem bright. There are always traitors, malcontents, and agitators. What do you think a few thousand such men would do if they entered the city with arms in their hands?"
"Oh."
As soon as he was dismissed, Zopyros hastened home, fearful that Korinna had gone back to Messana after all. But she was there, welcoming him with open arms as if they had never disagreed. After he and Korinna and Hieron had hugged the breath out of one another, Zopyros said to his stepson:
"Hieron, how would you like to go out and play until dinner?"
"Will you play with me, Zopyros?"
"Not this time. I have things to discuss with your mother."
"Then I'll stay home with you. I love you so much."
"I love you too, Hieron dear. But now I want to be alone with your mother."
"Why, Daddy?"
"Never mind. Look: here's a nice, new penny. Go to the market place and buy yourself a drink of sweetened water, or a toy, or whatever you like. Just don't come back before sunset."
"No, I want to play with you."
"Either you go, or you shall spend the afternoon studying your alpha-beta!"
"I don't want to study my alpha-beta today."
"Then go! And take your penny!"
During the winter, the store of weapons in the Arsenal grew, albeit at a slackened tempo. Zopyros, back at his job in the Arsenal, called Segovax, Archytas, and his assistant Abdashtarth into conference on a new catapult design. Segovax said:
"If you put the windlass farther back, the boys can get a better hold on it, without barking the knuckles of them against the frame."
Archytas: "And these stretchers are thicker than they need be. You can save weight ..."
Abdashtarth: "May it please my lord Zopyros, Master Prothymion thinks he can get more range by reinforcing the bow with a strip of sinew, as do the Scythians ..."
As Archytas had predicted, Zopyros found himself drawn into the circle of Dionysios' personal friends. Late one afternoon, he and Archytas were sitting with the others in the andron of Dionysios' palace, sipping Lesbian wine under the watchful eyes of the bodyguards. Damokles, the willowy poet and the most outspoken of Dionysios' flatterers, was holding forth on the greatness of his patron, when Dionysios entered with a letter in his hand. As the guests rose, the tyrannos said:
"At last, my friends, Lithodomos has written us from Neapolis— no doubt concerning his mission to buy grain for the next campaign."
Damokles cried out: "By the gods, O Dionysios, that's good!"
Dionysios looked at Damokles with a puzzled frown. "Since I have not yet opened the letter, how do you know whether he sends me good news or bad?"
Damokles, not put out of countenance, chuckled. "By the gods, Dionysios, that's good—reproof! You always know what to say! Such godlike speed of mind and tongue—no wonder you are the most accomplished, most fortunate, and happiest of mortals. If, that is, you are indeed a mortal."
"Were it not for this iron vest I wear," said Dionysios, "my mortality would, I fear, have been proven ere this. But speaking of happiness: are you then eager to change places with me?"
"Oh, no sir!" cried Damokles. "Does a mortal take the place of a god? One must not seek to climb the sky or to wed Aphrodite. My own shortcomings make such thoughts absurd—nay, blasphemous."
"Someday," said Dionysios, "you shall taste the joys of my position. Then, perchance, you'll chatter less about my ineffable happiness. How is your new catapult coming, Zopyros?"
Zopyros told him. Dionysios said: "Try to get the pilot model under way before the end of Anthesterion*(*Approximately February). The Carthaginians are stirring, hot to avenge last summer's defeat; we must start our campaign early."
Zopyros discussed the forthcoming campaign that evening at dinner with Korinna and Archytas. Both urged him to flee to Taras. But the revulsion he felt after the fall of Motya had faded. He refused, saying:
"If I quit Dionysios' service at the end of my first campaign, people would suspect he's dismissed me in disgrace. Besides, these campaigns don't promise any real danger to a staff officer. This time we're just cleaning up a few little sieges."
Archytas said: "Old boy, I'm afraid your head has been turned by Dionysios."
"Not at all! I see through his rascalities. Although you must admit that, if a city can't manage its own affairs, it could do worse than be led by a man like him."
Korinna said: "It's all very well to talk about your career; but your family ought to mean more to you. You leave us in danger while you pursue glory with that man."
"All right, all right, I promise to quit after this campaign. Just one more try for reputation, that's all!"
During the next few ten-days, Syracuse buzzed with rumors about the Carthaginians' vast preparations. Zopyros, along with Archytas, was asked to another dinner with Dionysios' intimates. The tyrannos walked in upon his guests clad in a long robe of royal purple and wearing a golden crown. A couple of guests whistled in amazement at this gorgeous spectacle.
"Your attire, sir," said Damokles, "confirms my suspicion of long standing, that we have befriended, not a man, but a god."
"Hm!" snorted Dionysios. "Could I but persuade the Carthaginians of that, all my problems would vanish. Understand, my friends, I don't intend to flaunt this raiment before the Syracusans just yet. To them I am still merely their President, and republican simplicity of dress is in order. But, now that I rule most of Sicily, I must experiment with the symbols of a wider sovereignty. Could the Great King retain the loyalty of all the many peoples of the Persian Empire if he strolled about the streets of Babylon in the garb of a common man, talking and joking with the vulgar as if he were one of them? I doubt it."
"How are the Carthaginians' preparations coming, sir?" asked another guest, as they took their positions on the dining couches.
"So far, I have received more rumor than fact. Still, I am told that Himilko will lead a million men to Sicily."
Some of the guests exchanged glances of alarm. Dionysios, taking off his crown and rubbing his scalp where it had chafed him, continued: "But every soldier knows what wild guesses people make about the size of a hostile army."
Zopyros said: "That's right, sir. Even Herodotos, whose history I've been reading, attributed an army of a million eight hundred thousand to Xerxes in his invasion of Hellas. From simple calculations of food and transport, and of the organization of the Persian Empire, Xerxes would have done well to assemble one tenth that number—actual combatants, that is."